


a boy with the getaway

by colfield



Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, JJ keeps kissing Pope and Pope doesn't know what it means, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24727876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colfield/pseuds/colfield
Summary: Rule number one: No Pogue-on-Pogue macking.JJ has never been good at following rules. Pope has never been good at denying JJ anything.
Relationships: JJ/Pope (Outer Banks)
Comments: 43
Kudos: 273





	a boy with the getaway

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how I got here either. I refuse to believe these characters are in high school, so this fic takes place in a world where they are like 19-20, and they just had a fun summer treasure hunting without all the murder.
> 
> This fic was entirely inspired by the way listening to Carly Rae Jepsen makes me feel. Title from her song Accidentally in Love. The title doesn't actually have to do with this fic, I just really like that line.

💋

JJ’s brand of affection takes some getting used to.

He puts his hands on everything, curious and tactile and lacking any semblance of boundaries. He hardly ever sits still, forever fidgeting with his lighter or twisting rings around his fingers. He draws people into motion with him. Whenever he’s not getting into real fights, he’s tackling John B to play wrestle, or spinning Kiara around by her waist, or pulling Pope along next to him.

Pope has to remind himself that this is what friends do. The intimate and familiar rituals of all that casual contact. No awkward second guessing of where to put your hands or worrying that your touch isn’t welcome. And it’s not that Pope doesn’t secretly thrill whenever JJ throws an arm around his neck, hauling Pope into his space to speak closely or slap gently at Pope’s cheek. It’s just -

Pope’s never had a friend like JJ before.

Pope’s never had _any_ real friends before, not like John B and Kiara and JJ. Being a nerdy, quiet black boy with a death obsession didn’t exactly make him popular with the other boys growing up. He’s still getting used to them actually wanting him around, half waiting for them to realize he’s not nearly as cool as John B, or as interesting as Kiara, or as funny and exciting as JJ. For them to forget about him.

But that doesn’t happen.

“You’re one of us now, Pope,” JJ crows, a pale arm thrown over his shoulder. “A Pogue through and through.” JJ has been steadily making his way through the six-pack he’d managed to steal off his dad and he is warm and heavy and a little drunk against Pope’s side. After a moment’s hesitation, Pope wraps his arm around JJ’s waist to steady him. John B winks at him over the rim of his can, and Kiara pumps a fist into the air in celebration.

Pope sips at his own tepid beer. The four of them have settled into an empty, dark stretch of the beach. Tomorrow is his 14th birthday. It’s the first time since he was a kid that he’s not spending it alone.

“What do you want for your birthday, Pope?” Kiara resettles, pushing her elbows forward on her knees. She smiles at him, her pretty face tilted up in the moonlight. Pope swallows thickly, looking away from her as heat floods his neck.

He stops himself before he says something insanely stupid, like _you._ Instead, he shrugs, a lifeless motion under the weight of JJ’s arm.

“Whatever you want,” John B says, stretching out in the sand. He always manages to look exactly right wherever he ends up, seamless and confident. Pope’s never looked like that in his life. “I’m sure JJ will steal it for you.” He salutes JJ with his empty beer, and JJ returns the gesture with his finger.

Kiara smacks John B’s leg, loud enough for Pope to hear it and hard enough for John B to wince and pull his legs out of reach. “Shut up, John B.”

“Yeah,” JJ grumbles, “I’m tryin’ stop that shit.” He grins at Pope, so close that Pope can see the freckles on JJ’s cheek in the dark. He lowers his voice, teasing and hushed, bending his forehead towards Pope’s and says, “but I would steal for you, Pope.”

These moments - the good-natured teasing that almost sounds like flirting, the generous touching and lingering fingers against his skin, the quick flash of teeth, both a warning and suggestion - it makes Pope freeze, his body lagging as his brain scrambles to find the correct response. If it bothers JJ to feel Pope stiffen under his touch, desperate and awkward, he doesn’t mention it.

He just keeps touching Pope like he’s waiting for him to catch up.

“How about for my birthday JJ doesn’t do anything he could get arrested for?”

They all laugh at that, even if JJ fakes outrage, pulling away from Pope to argue loudly with John B. Pope’s cold all down his right side without JJ’s body pressed against him, but there’s warmth pooling in his stomach, a pleasant buzz at getting it right.

He watches them, his friends who ask nothing of him, expect nothing from him, who let him be weird even if they don’t fully understand him most of the time. He admits, quiet, “I don’t need anything else for my birthday.”

“Aw,” they all coo at him, out of sync and obnoxiously drawn out.

“That was almost emotional, Pope.” JJ says, wiping a fake tear away. He grabs Pope’s face in both his hands, grip curling over the back of his neck. JJ’s fingers are cold and damp as he squeezes lightly. “I’m touched,” he smacks a kiss on Pope’s cheek, loud and exaggerated, close enough that the corner of his lips meet Pope’s.

“Get off him, JJ,” Kiara says, and suddenly Pope’s standing stockstill, alone, still struggling to make sense of what just happened.

No one’s ever kissed him before. Not even as a joke.

None of the others seem to think anything of it. Pope chalks it up to that secret language of friendship, the one he’s still learning to read. Or maybe it’s just a JJ thing. Whatever the reason, Pope makes himself relax, joins the others’ teasing, and tries not to focus on the tingling at the corner of his mouth.

💋💋

Pope is drunk.

Pope, as a general rule, does not get drunk.

But today was a rare perfect summer day - that magic combination of sun and heat, the music from John B’s speakers loud and clear over the water, Kiara’s cooler stocked with beer and po boys poached from her father’s kitchen, and the boundless freedom of nothing to do. Pope hadn’t wanted that feeling to end.

So when they’d stumbled upon a kegger, already in full swing, Pope just . . . didn’t stop drinking.

He’s a little fuzzy on how he’s ended up here, though.

He’s on the couch in the Chateau. JJ is next to him, wispy through a fog of smoke as he talks around his joint. A is beer melting on Pope’s knee, leaving a circle of condensation on his shorts.

There are two very pretty girls spread out on the floor in front of them.

“Pope here, he’s a certified genius,” JJ is saying. He’s flushed and gesturing too wide, a telltale sign he’s well past drunk. Pope blinks at him then at the girls.

“Is that so,” the one sitting by his left leg asks. Her eyes are ringed in dark kohl, her hair streaked with blue. She’s in a flimsy top, and when she leans forever to take the joint from JJ, Pope can see clear down her cleavage. He looks away quickly, throat thick with embarrassment.

“Smartest guy I know,” JJ is still bragging, elbowing at Pope until he looks up.

“Right,” he replies lamely.

“Smart and cute,” the other girl says. She’s got red curls piled high on top of her head, a dusting of freckles across her nose. There’s glitter down both her pale, bare arms. “The full package.”

Pope doesn’t say anything at that, and the four of them lapse into an awkward silence. He scratches his nose, eyeing the ceiling. He wonders where Kiara is. Where John B is. If they’re together somewhere.

He drifts for a bit, letting the lull of their conversation float by him. JJ’s voice is a familiar hum under the girls, the rhythm of his flirting well-known by now. Apparently, the redhead is Rach ( _not_ Rachel, she snaps crossly) and the other one is Jessie. They’re both so painfully Touron that Pope doesn’t have the energy to pretend to be interested in them.

He only tunes back into what they’re saying when Jessie says, “If you expect us to kiss, we want to see some action in return.”

Which, _what_?

“Oh, yeah, of course,” JJ winks at them, flashing a dangerous smile.

“What?” Pope says out loud, a bit dumbly. Everyone ignores him.

The girls turn to each other, grinning, and Jessie’s hand finds the back of Rach’s neck like it knows the way. They meet with no hesitation.

“Dude,” JJ whispers, giggling, elbowing him again. Pope can’t stop staring. He wonders distantly if this is what a heart attack feels like.

There’s a flash of Jessie’s tongue as she kisses Rach. Their chests are pushed together, legs tangled on the floor. Pope’s breathing has gone a bit odd, and JJ looks similarly stunned in his peripheral. The beer can in his hand crumbles, spilling warm liquid over his hand and leg, and he fumbles to set it on the floor, cursing.

Rach is the one to pull away after a long minute of them kissing. She presses a last, lingering kiss to the corner of Jessie’s lips. They look completely unruffled when they turn back to Pope and JJ, as if they kiss for boys all the time.

“That was inspired, ladies. Truly.” JJ tips the brim of his worn cap at them. His cheeks are stained red, blushing all the way down to his collarbone.

“Your turn,” Rach says. There’s lipstick smeared across her mouth and chin. Pope’s having a hard time pulling his eyes away from it.

Then, JJ’s thumb, rough with callus, is unyielding on the cut of Pope’s jaw. He raises his brows at Pope, waiting for a signal that whatever is happening is okay. Pope’s lost the plot somewhere long ago, but he’s not about to say _no_ to whatever is happening right now, even if he doesn’t quite understand it.

JJ’s warm breath, smelling of beer and weed, is on his cheek. JJ’s eyes, bright and wet, are secure on Pope’s. When JJ’s mouth slips against Pope’s, it’s a dry drag of soft skin across his lips. Pope startles under the touch, instinctually jerking back, but JJ’s grip on his chin stays firm, not letting him get away.

It takes a full count of three before Pope relaxes, eyes fluttering closed. JJ waits him out with the lightest pressure against Pope’s mouth, breathing with him. Then he presses hard into Pope, fingers slipping away from Pope’s jaw to tilt his head back, changing the angle.

JJ’s nose bumps against Pope’s as he kisses him. It’s - nice. Not so different from the girls Pope has kissed. Except that JJ is - his best friend, one of his three favorite people in the world, and it’s shocking how _right_ it feels to be kissed by him.

There is hollering, clapping, and someone whistles. JJ laughs, falling away from Pope until he’s on his back on the couch, spread out and smug.

“Thank you, boys. That was lovely,” Jessie says. She’s laughing too. Pope feels like he’s missed a step somewhere and fell into a different version of his life.

“I think you broke him,” Rach giggles.

“Nah,” JJ tilts a crooked grin at Pope. Helpless and shaky, Pope returns it. “We do this all the time. Real progressive types out here in the cut. Gender is a construct or whatever.”

“Uh,” Pope says. He tries to think of anything to add, but there’s nothing in his brain but JJ kissing him on a loop.

“Okay,” Jessie says, pushing up onto her knees, “now it’s my turn,” she smoothes a hand along Pope’s thigh, her fingers long and delicate. The rest of her follows the path of her hand, and suddenly Pope’s got a lapful of a beautiful girl smirking down at him. “Don’t look so scared,” she whispers, leaning into his space. “I promise to be nice.”

She kisses him, her mouth full and soft but tacky with lip gloss. Pope tries to kiss her back, to focus on how nice she feels on top of him, the give of her waist and her slightly smokey scent. But he’s too aware of JJ shifting next to him. Pope can’t see what he’s doing but it feels like the most important thing in the world right then to be able to see JJ.

He’s saved from having to do anything when John B bursts in, Kiara right on his heels, shouting at him about something to do with plastic water bottles.

Jessie jerks away from him. Kiara rolls her eyes, sneering at the girls. “Gross,” she mutters. She’s still puffed up from her fight with John B, anger flashing like lightning.

“Right,” Jessie says, awkwardly. “We’re just gonna, go.” She grabs Rach’s arm, hauling her friend up off the floor and away from JJ. “See ya,” she tosses at Pope, smiling a little before her and Rach duck around John B still standing in the doorway.

“Dude,” he says approvingly. Kiara huffs at them all, knocking her shoulder roughly into John B’s.

The rest of the night passes almost as if by routine - Kiara forgives John B for whatever transgression he’s committed as soon as he flashes his puppy eyes at her, John B squeezes onto the couch between Pope and JJ throwing arms wide across both their shoulders, and then it’s the four of them alone again. Just like every other night.

Pope’s never drinking again.

💋💋💋

“Why do I _always_ let you talk me into your shit?”

“Cause you love me.” JJ pauses, considering, flipping his hat. “Cause your life would be boring and meaningless without me in it.”

“Sure,” Pope says, knocking the hat to the floor. They’re in John B’s tiny bathroom, the single uncovered light bulb casting JJ in sickly yellow. He’s balancing on the edge of the sink while Pope stands between his legs, a cobbled together aid kit in JJ’s lap.

“Lift up,” Pope demands, reaching for the hem of JJ’s shirt. Together, they manage to pull it over JJ’s head, twisting to avoid the worst of his injury.

His left side is one long angry, red mark from where he skidded across the pavement. The blood has rushed to the surface, but it’s not an open wound, nothing that requires immediate attention. Pope curls his fingers around the curve of JJ’s ribs, trailing lightly along the irritated skin with an alcohol pad. JJ hisses in pain, jerking away.

Other than the abrasion on his side, there are scrapes on his knee and elbow, and his hip will surely bruise from where he landed. There’s a dusky gray bruise healing at his temple but it’s too old to have come from this afternoon. Pope presses his thumb to it anyway, half in reprimand.

“You’ll be fine.” Pope announces. “Though there’s no accounting for the brain damage you must have for trying that stunt.”

JJ scoffs, rolling his eyes and chewing on his bottom lip. He reaches out to press gingerly around the welt growing on the crest of Pope’s cheek from where JJ’s elbow clocked him. “Does that hurt?”

“Yes,” Pope snaps, slapping JJ’s hands away, but JJ just puts them right back.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, feeling the shape of the swelling. It feels nice, actually, that pain-pleasure mix of pressing on a new bruise. And JJ’s fingers are cold, soothing as they trace the circle of bruising on Pope’s skin. “It looks kind of badass though.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah,” JJ grins sideways as he kicks his heels against the wood cabinet under the sink. “Quieres que lo bese mejor?”

He does that, sometimes, dropping Spanish into conversations without a thought. It’s always a shock to Pope, a jolt in the pit of his stomach to hear JJ’s tongue curl around those words. JJ doesn’t talk about where he picked the language up much. All Pope knows is that JJ learned it back when his mom was still around, something about a neighbor who used to come over and bandage JJ’s skinned knees.

Pope’s always liked that image. A young JJ, repeating the words of comfort someone spoke to him, tripping over the accent until he got it right. That it mattered enough that he still carries the language with him now.

“You know I don’t know what you just said.”

“Yeah,” JJ says, eyes soft. “I like knowing something you don’t.”

And Pope would roll his eyes at that but JJ darts forward, lips against Pope’s cheek, right over his growing bruise.

It’s quick, hardly a heartbeat’s worth of time. But JJ kisses him like he’s something worth being careful with.

“Better?” JJ asks. Pope blinks his eyes open, his face a question reflected back to him over JJ’s shoulder. JJ’s knees bump against Pope, closing him in, and Pope drifts in his pull. “I’m sorry you got hurt,” JJ repeats. He isn’t touching Pope anywhere except the places his knees lock in, but Pope is overheated, flushed. His eyes fall to JJ’s lips.

John B’s hand slaps the door frame, his head popping into view. “What’s the diagnosis, Doc?”

Pope steps back. JJ heels hit the cabinet with one final _bang_. “He’ll live,” he announces.

“Hear that, JJ,” John B makes his eyes wide, mouth dropping open in fake shock. “This calls for a celebration,” he winks.

JJ scoffs, “dude, I’m not going to a Kook party just so you can moon after your girlfriend.” He jumps down to follow John B out of the bathroom. His hand comes up to Pope’s waist as he moves, the lightest pressure that lingers after JJ has passed.

That worn cap of JJ’s is still on the floor, pathetic and dejected on the peeling laminate. Pope snatches it up, pushes it onto his head.

He catches his reflection again in the mirror, dusty hat crooked over his forehead, face streaked with sweat and dirt, open shirt hanging off his shoulders. He looks good wearing JJ’s bruises.

💋💋💋💋

They’re both a little drunk, a little high, when they fall into Pope’s bed. They had to climb through Pope’s window to sneak past his parents. JJ wrestles him onto the bed as soon as they are safely cocooned in his room, grinning, smelling of salt and sweat and boyish freedom. It’s that fine line between night and morning, when time is slippery and malleable, where everything is cast in a slightly dreamlike quality.

The whole night has felt a bit like that - hazy and surreal. They do that, sometimes, sneaking away just the two of them. JJ likes to surf at night, likes the solitude and calm of a bare ocean spread out before him. When it’s the two of them, alone like that, it’s like there’s no one else on the whole island. Just them and the vast, black ocean, the glint of moonlight on the crowning waves, and the comfortable kind of quiet that settles into Pope.

Now, JJ is warm and solid, a dark shape over him, the safe anchor Pope reaches for in the dark. He’s pressing Pope into the mattress from his wrists to his knees, a straight line of contact. There’s not enough light to make out JJ’s face, but Pope can picture him easily enough, the line of his frown and the slope of his brow, his face a familiar secret to Pope.

He thinks JJ says his name. Pope hums, eyes slipping closed, flexing against JJ’s hold on his wrists. JJ’s nose bumps against his, playful, and Pope grins, tilting his chin up to nudge him back. JJ follows the curve of Pope’s smile with his mouth. And this, too, has become familiar to Pope now.

He lets JJ kiss him, sinking into the sensation, relaxing his body so that JJ has to reposition against Pope to keep them lined up. He’s sweet, nearly shy, taking his time with it. There’s no rush, just the gentle slide of JJ’s lips over his as they kiss for long minutes.

Pope is still floating, the weed and alcohol creating a protective bubble so that all he can focus on is this. He loses himself in the wet, warmth of JJ’s mouth, the strength of his fingers around Pope’s wrist, the tangle of their legs as bare skin chafes against his calf, the weight of JJ’s body and the shifting of his muscles as he moves.

“Pope,” JJ says, his voice a rough gasp against Pope’s lips. Pope responds, pushing his hips up into JJ, a low whine at the back of his throat. JJ’s mouth slips from Pope’s, dragging across his jaw as JJ pants heavily. Pope swallows thickly, an electric spark fizzing down his spine.

He’s pressing most insistently now, hips moving in lazy circles. He shoves his face into the hollow of Pope’s neck, forehead pressing hard against the curve of Pope’s shoulder. It’s too hot, with JJ panting harsh little puffs of air, his body covering Pope’s fully, the night still and humid over them. “JJ,” Pope says. He has to repeat a few times, pulling at JJ’s hold on his wrists before JJ lets go.

Pope’s fingers slide into JJ’s hair, right at the base of his neck. The other fists in JJ’s shirt, right over the small of his back. He turns his head to kiss at JJ’s sweaty hairline. As always, Pope is completely overwhelmed by everything JJ. He is moving too much for Pope to get any purchase to push against him, his hips clumsy and uncoordinated, so Pope just grips him tight at those two points and holds on.

It doesn’t take long before JJ is shuddering, curling tightly into Pope. He feels small in Pope’s embrace, vulnerable and close. They breathe hard against each other, Pope’s mind slow and tripping until JJ starts pushing against him again.

“C’mon, Pope,” his voice is in Pope’s ear, urgent, breathless.

When Pope comes, it’s a cold wash down his overheated skin, and he shivers into JJ’s arms.

“Fuck,” JJ swears, meaningfully. Pope’s fingers ache. He shakes his hands out, folding JJ into a hug, arms around JJ’s middle. JJ laughs, hugging him back.

He should be gross, sweaty and still too hot knotted together the way they are. Instead, sleep is pulling at Pope’s consciousness, comfortable and safe in JJ’s arms.

“I gotta go,” JJ is saying, some indeterminate amount of time later. Pope groans, locking his arms. JJ’s laugh is barely a brush of air on his face. “Pope, if your dad finds me here, we’re both fucked.” He sits up, stronger than Pope hovering at the edges of sleep.

“I want you to stay,” Pope mumbles, rolling onto his side, missing JJ’s warmth and weight immediately.

“I want to stay,” JJ says, quiet, like a confession. His hand is on Pope’s face, thumb brushing over Pope’s eyebrow. JJ kisses Pope on his forehead, once. The feeling follows Pope into his dreams, the last waking thing he’s aware of until the sun is blinding him awake the next morning.

💋💋💋💋💋

JJ doesn’t kiss Pope again.

Nothing else changes. JJ still touches Pope the way he always has, easy and generous, careful. He still rolls up to Heyward’s store during Pope’s shifts just to spend time with him. He still gives Pope endless shit, teasing and annoyed in equal measure. He still cracks jokes, looking to Pope for approval first.

It’s driving Pope a bit crazy, leaving him on edge, tensing whenever JJ so much as brushes by him. He doesn’t know how to bring it up, how to ask _why’d you stop kissing me_ when they’ve never spoken about it before.

He can’t talk to Kiara or John B about it either. What’s he going to say? _Oh, yeah, sometimes JJ kisses me, and now he doesn’t, and I don’t know what that means or why I can’t stop thinking about him._

No way.

So he suffers silently, turning it over in his mind, anxious and uneasy.

And he watches JJ, analyzing every move, as if the curve of his bicep or the arch of his shoulders or the tension in his jaw will reveal what he’s thinking. Pope watches the line of JJ’s throat work as he breathes out a cloud of smoke, watches the fall of JJ’s hair after he runs greasy fingers through it, watches the dip of his waist when he dives into the water, hoping any of it might be a clue.

None of it tells Pope what has changed.

They’re all at the Chateau, lazing around on the front porch, the heat too oppressive for much movement. Pope is pretending to read, legs thrown over the arm of the couch, book propped on his chest. Kiara is on the floor, hair a twisty halo around her, foot swinging to the music in her headphones. JJ and John B are playing some game that involves throwing bottle caps at the wall. Pope can’t follow the rules or how the points are earned, but JJ seems to be losing.

That much is confirmed when, ten minutes later, John B cheers, triumphant, and JJ sulks off to the kitchen.

The screen door slams behind him and Pope sits up, sensing an opportunity. Neither Kiara nor John B pay him any mind as he follows JJ into the cool shade of the house.

JJ is hanging off the door of the fridge, bent at the waist, his shirt gaping open so Pope can see the smooth, golden width of his stomach. He grins at Pope when he glances up, moving away to let the door close.

“Hey, Pope,” he twists the top off his beer, but doesn’t raise the bottle to drink from it.

Pope is nervous, speechless, tries to think of something, anything, to say, to do, a way to fix this energy between them. JJ frowns at him, brow scrunching as he drags his gaze down Pope’s body. “What’s with you, man? You’re being weird. Like, more so than usual.”

Pope takes a deep breath, rolling his shoulders back, moving into JJ’s space. Pope doesn’t touch him as JJ presses himself flat against the wall. Something in JJ’s eyes flickers, that dimple in his cheek flashing. Pope hovers, face ducked as embarrassment heats his face. He can’t look at JJ. Instead, Pope watches his hands come up to JJ’s waist, hesitating for a moment before settling, his fingers flexing against JJ’s sun-warmed skin.

He’s never been the one to initiate this thing between them. Finds he’s not really brave enough to bridge that gap on his own.

JJ slants his chin up, a challenge, his smirk slinking across his mouth. Pope’s eyes are drawn there, to the upward quirk of his lips, and he drifts closer, forehead meeting JJ’s as they stare at each other.

In the end, it’s JJ who tilts to fit their mouths together, his hand coming up to rest at the corner of Pope’s jaw. Pope presses forward into the soft give of JJ’s body, kissing him and kissing him and kissing him.

There’s a _bang_ of a door slamming outside, John B’s laugh echoing in the empty room. Pope jumps away from JJ, stepping backward until his elbow bounces painfully off the fridge. His pulse is sweeping, hands unsteady as he folds them under his arms. JJ looks flushed and stunned, but pleased. “Well, shit, Pope, if you wanted to kiss me, all you had to do was ask,” he says.

Pope laughs, feeling slightly hysterical but mostly relieved. JJ bites his lip, watching Pope. It’s a little like the way Pope has been watching him, like he’s trying to figure something out.

“Pope, JJ,” John B’s voice finds them, trailing in through the open windows. Pope twists around, searching for the shadows of John B and Kiara on the front porch.

“Come on,” JJ says, hand on Pope’s shoulder, a tether, as he follows the sounds of Kiara and John B’s muffled conversation out into the sun.

❤️

The tourist season is winding down, life on the Outer Banks slowly returning to normal.

The sort of normal that now includes Sarah Cameron perched on John B’s lap, his arms tight around her hips as Kiara snipes at her from across the table. A normal where JJ sprawls in his seat, stretching out to press his knee to Pope’s, hidden, and Pope presses back, failing to cover his smile with a yawn.

They’re taking up two tables and generally harassing the other customers. Kiara’s dad glares at them from the kitchen, but it isn’t busy enough to justify kicking them out. The food has gone cold, a mismatch of items selected at random from the menu, which they’ve all been sampling, reaching over each other to grab what they want and making a mess in the process.

Pope stands to use the bathroom, trailing light fingers along the back of JJ’s neck as he passes.

Things have been good between them. It turns out adding kissing to their relationship doesn’t actually change much. They haven’t put a name to what this is, haven’t brought it out into the light of day, haven’t discussed what it means that Pope now intimately knows how JJ feels under his hands. The best kind of secret. It feels too new, too precious, to let out into the world just yet.

Which of course, means everyone finds out.

Kiara is there as soon as he comes out, shoving him against the door hard before his hands have fully dried. Pope surrenders, wet hands up in the air.

“ _Why_ ,” she snaps, lip curling fiercely, “is Sarah telling everyone she saw you and JJ kissing?” Pope immediately turns to find JJ, but Kiara slaps his shoulder. “Don’t look over there, look at me.”

“I -” Pope starts.

“The first rule, Pope,” she interrupts, throwing her hands up, “no Pogue on Pogue macking. What are you guys even doing? Are you dating now? When did this even start?” She’s working herself up, voice pitching higher.

Pope grabs her shoulders, leveling a look at her. “Kie,” he says, keeping his voice steady. Panic is flooding his heart, his pulse kicking wildly, and there’s an odd cold sensation running down all his limbs. He doesn’t know what JJ has told them.

So, he opts for the truth.

“I don’t know,” he says honestly, shrugging helplessly. “I don’t know how to answer any of that. Kie, it just sort of happened, okay?”

Kiara looks away, mouth pursed unhappily. For a crazy moment, it looks like she might cry. Then, she turns back to Pope, stares at him for a long beat. “This is for real?”

He nods a little, shrugging again. Such an inadequate gesture to encompass the reality of it all. “Yeah,” he says, quietly.

“For how long?”

Pope frowns, dropping his hands from Kiara’s shoulders. “A while? I don’t know, okay, it wasn’t like we woke up one day and decided to start making out in secret.”

Kiara sighs noisily, doing that full body eye roll of hers, but she seems to accept his answer. “So, you guys are, like, a thing, then?”

“No?” He winces at Kiara’s look, rushing to explain, “I don’t - we haven’t exactly talked about it.”

“Jesus, you guys are idiots.” Kiara rubs a hand over her forehead, shaking her head. “Look, JJ is out there telling everyone you aren’t into him like that, so you should go fix that.”

“What?” Pope whips around, searching for their table at the far side of the restaurant.

“ _Go_ ,” Kiara demands, pushing at his shoulders until he stumbles forward.

It’s probably the most awkward moment he’s ever experienced, that death walk back to the table. Sarah is pretending not to be watching him, examining her nails. She’s no longer in John B’s lap. John B is standing, one hand frozen in his hair, a slightly crazed look in his eye. JJ is staring at the table, his shoulders tense, hunched over his chair.

And Pope, for the first time, doesn’t overthink it. He walks up to JJ, slides a hand into his hair to angle his head back, and kisses him.

It’s probably the best kiss of Pope’s life.

JJ smiles into it, one hand coming up to grip Pope’s shoulder as he kisses back.

“So, you guys are together then?” Sarah is saying from across them.

They both pull back to look at her. John B seems to have stopped breathing entirely. Kiara is smiling at them both. She winks at Pope when he catches her eye.

“Yeah,” Pope says, sliding back into his seat. JJ removes his hat to rub a hand through his hair. They’re both still grinning like crazy. “We’re together.”

Sarah beams at them, happiness without reservation. Even John B seems to come back to himself, shaking his hair out. “Shit guys,” he reaches over to bump fists with Pope.

There’s a flurry of questions, and lots of teasing innuendos, mostly from John B. JJ tolerates it for a bit before it devolves into him tossing cold fries and empty ketchup packets at John B’s head while Kiara shouts at them for making a mess.

Under the table, JJ reaches out and tangles their fingers together. Pope squeezes back and holds on.

**Author's Note:**

> my [tumblr](https://colfields.tumblr.com) if you're so inclined


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